This Is The Life That We Choose (This Is The Life That We Bleed)
by Lioness's Heart
Summary: Oneshot. He had always known that the calm came before the storm and that there was a storm coming – that was the storm that would bleed him dry.


**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and so on do not belong to me. They belong to Tamora Pierce.**

**I recently reread _Terrier_ and ended up being inspired - I should not that I have not read****_ Mastiff_ and I do not plan to. This fic is, to my knowledge and the best of my ability, canon compliant. This was partially inspired by People Like Us by Kelly Clarkson, which is where the title comes from. Feedback would be appreciated, so don't forget to leave me a review if you liked it!**

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Sometimes he wondered if Beka Cooper understood exactly what he did. Perhaps she had a faint idea of what it meant to be the Rogue, but he doubted that she understood the full extent of what he did.

Rosto the Piper had become the puppetmaster when he took down Kayfer Deerborn. King Roger might rule Tortall, but Rosto owned Corus. It was his city, ruled from the hardwood throne rather than the golden throne in the opulent palace.

He saw everything. He knew the city like the back of his hand now. His birdies were everywhere. She thought her network was effective – his was even more intricate.

She did not think he saw. She must have thought he was ignorant to what went on behind closed doors. She forgot that the Dancing Dove was just across the street. She forgot how adept he was at scaling walls. He knew what happened in her apartments. He knew what happened when Holborn Shaftstall had hotblood wine and how she did nothing.

It made the part of him that he had tried so hard to bury in the past years ache. That was not the Beka Cooper he knew. The Beka Cooper he knew had sworn off rushers because one had raised a hand to her mother. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. She forgot that sometimes words were enough to do the same damage.

He was careful when he arranged things – he had hardly been subtle when the Pell brothers attacked, but the times have changed. He is no longer newly the Rogue. He is less prone to rash, open acts.

He said something in passing to one of his district chiefs – something so innocuous that it could hardly be traced back to him. That was all that was required. Three days later, the deed was done. (Perhaps a little too well for his taste. It would not do if it was traced back to him because it was neat.)

Comforting her was the easy part. Telling her that everything would be better soon was not difficult. Watching her ride off in search of Prince Gareth was the part that he hated. Seeing her come back attached to Cape was worse.

Rosto buried what little hope he had clung to. He stopped watching. It was easier.

Beka and her new partner (What was his name again? Rosto did not care to remember. It hardly mattered.) were the ones who came to retrieve the Happy Bag when it came time. Those insignificant moments were intoxicating. He hated them. He wanted to forget. He wanted to move on. It was as if she would not let him, sparkler on her hand or no. (If he was honest with himself, Rosto the Piper would never forget all that they could have had – all that they could have been. They could have changed the world.)

Eventually the city settled back into its natural state. The Dogs hobbled his Rats, his Rats ran circles around the Dogs, the Happy Bag was paid – there was peace. As much peace as one could expect in the Lower City. It was quiet. (But never too quiet. Folk remembered what happened when everything went silent. That was why they needed him. For all the Rogue was full of thieves, they needed the assurance that life went on as usual and that they still needed the Dogs. They still needed Beka Cooper.)

Rosto knew it would not last forever. He had always known that. (He had always known that the calm came before the storm and that there was a storm coming – that was the storm that would bleed him dry.)

(So he tried to forget, even though he knew that it was impossible.)

Then the storm came. The war was unavoidable. The toll it took was crushing. But the Rogue endured. He endured. It was everything else that seemed to scatter all around.

He did not need words to say what happened next. In his heart of hearts, he knew the day was coming. (He had known the day was coming since he challenged Kayfer. It had to be done. Something had to change. He just hoped he had left his mark on the city. He knew he would never be remembered. After all, who would remember Rosto the Piper when they could remember Beka Cooper instead?)

Rosto saw her that night. He knew what was in store and the part of him that was buried so deep reared its head. He knew what was coming and he would not let the night pass without doing something. (Mithros curse him, he should have done it before - before he lost her for good.) He kissed her like had had his first day as the Rogue. It seemed fitting. This dance that they had done was coming to an end and there was nothing he could do to stop it. (They had danced around each other for far too long and they both knew it. They both knew that it was too late and it was the love that never was.)

That was the night it came to an end. He gave her a cocky smile and he let it happen. He had always known that his time would come sooner rather than later. He had made his choice long ago. He chose her. He would not change that for the world. He chose to live.

(In the end, Beka Cooper made Rosto the Piper a better man. They could have been so much more. They could have changed the world together. They were the story that could have been. But they were never anything more than star-crossed. They changed the world anyway.)


End file.
